<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>close up, close in by yoogiboobi</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052805">close up, close in</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoogiboobi/pseuds/yoogiboobi'>yoogiboobi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Face-Fucking, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, and gratuitous depictions of osamu riding a motorbike in a leather jacket, don't be fooled this has no plot, endless banter, it's just</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:49:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoogiboobi/pseuds/yoogiboobi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>“So your marketing strategy is to make your clients fall in love with you?”</p><p>“Careful now, yer one of my regulars, in case you haven’t noticed. Are you fallin’ for me?”</p><p> </p><p>—<br/>There's a new onigiri place next to EJP Raijin's training center.<br/>Suna decides to give it a try.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1265</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>close up, close in</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hiya, i crash landed on sunaosa planet about a month ago and got acquainted with inarizaki for the first time in june/july when i caught up w the manga so. i just hope i didn't butcher their characters</p><p>also, i changed the name of osamu's shop for ~plot~ reasons. it's kinda dumb. nigiru (握る) means to grasp, to seize, to grip, etc, and it shares the kanji with onigiri (お握り), which is why i settled on that word. i did some research and it still probably makes no sense to ppl who actually speak japanese but i was stuck on the name and this is the best that came out so let's just run w it okay</p><p>enjoy~~</p><p>edit: oh my GOD i don't know what's up w me assuming every pro team is based in tokyo but i am once again asking you to roll with it pls</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>— </p><p> </p><p>If you were to ask Suna what his least favourite things about living in Tokyo were, public transportation during rush hours would have to be one of them. Crowded platforms and packed trains just don’t agree with his early morning disposition, never mind that he’s been doing this ever since he was old enough to walk around by himself.</p><p>There is, however, one thing he hates more than being smothered by a horde of strangers barely an hour after crawling out of bed, and that is rush hour traffic, of which Tokyo has plenty. Too much, in fact. Nothing makes him want to bang his head against a steering wheel—repeatedly—more than endless lines of slow-moving cars. The reliability of the metro allows him to be where he wants, when he wants, at the very least, whereas traffic is often tricky and unpredictable.</p><p>Backwards as it might be for some, this is the logic that keeps Suna sane during his daily commutes to and from Raijin’s training center, with a little help from noise-cancelling headphones, the morning newspaper on his phone, and the knowledge that he’s not wasting two hours of his day crossing Tokyo by car at half past eight in the morning. Even so, emerging from the underground station and feeling his personal space slowly returning to him as he veers away from the main avenue always feels like a relief.</p><p>Today is no different, and he welcomes the sharp morning wind against his cheeks as he takes the last few steps to the surface, the lower half of his face buried in his scarf. He walks past a busy chain coffeehouse and takes his usual left turn into the quieter street where his training center is located, the route familiar after almost a handful of years.</p><p>When he looks ahead, however, he’s met with a partially blocked road, which is certainly unusual. A commotion of heavy machinery and police cars block off the passage of vehicles and people alike. Judging by the hole in the asphalt and the slightly flooded, muddy area around it, Suna assumes it must’ve been a pipe that burst unexpectedly during the night or something similar, as he’d seen no signs of such bustle just the day before.</p><p>Turning on his heel and walking back the way he came from, he decides to circle around the block in the opposite direction he usually does. It’s a slightly longer route to his destination, but he still has some time left before their scheduled briefing session starts. When he’s taking the very last corner around the block and spots the training center’s sign, however, something else catches his attention.</p><p>Right on that corner there’s a small shop with big windows. A line of tall benches and tables look out onto the street from inside. Although he can’t remember the last time he’s done so, he has walked past this corner more times than he can count, so he remembers this place being closed for a long time, newspaper taped to the windows and dust gathering on the glass. He wonders when had this place gone from undeniably closed to the rather homely nook Suna now stands in front of.</p><p>The shop is still closed at this hour, so Suna walks up to the windows to better examine the interior. The decoration doesn’t give away much—a tan marble counter with empty glass displays on top, a door that leads to some place unknown, cream-coloured walls and sparse, natural wooden furniture that ties the neutral colour palette together. The lack of any coffee machines tells him it’s not just another café, and in the end it’s the name of the place engraved on the wall at the very back that gives Suna the slightest clue of what this business might be—Nigiru, it reads. An onigiri shop, most certainly. His hunch is confirmed when he takes a peek at the small menu hanging on the glass door, which lists a myriad of possible onigiri fillings, side dishes, and beverages available.</p><p>Suna hums in thought, retreating a few steps back so he can take in the overall look of the place again. He thinks about all the times he’s ended his workdays feeling completely starved and wishing there were other establishments within walking distance other than overpriced fancy cafés and the same old convenience stores. This shop could prove to be a much needed change to the neighbourhood.</p><p>Hoping the food is at least half as good as the place looks, he makes a mental note to come and give it a try later that week.</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Despite his initial intention, two weeks pass until he finds the time to drop by the place. Late practice sessions, away games, and last minute meetings and events keep his thoughts far from the little corner shop, regardless of its physical closeness to his usual workplace.</p><p>Today, however, when his stomach rumbles pitifully as he’s leaving the training center after a particularly tiring day, the sudden thought of a freshly made onigiri sounds very tempting, and that’s what ultimately brings him to stand at the doors of the shop.</p><p>Unlike the previous time, the place is now open, lit up, and the glass displays have an array of onigiris lined up, ready to be taken. There’s no one inside save for a man behind the counter dressed in all black, back turned away from the door as he cleans the shelf in the back where various packaging materials and other similar paraphernalia are neatly stacked. He turns around, dusting off his hands, when Suna crosses the door and makes his presence known. He’s greeted with a lazy smile.</p><p>“Oh, hello. Welcome to Nigiru.”</p><p>Suna takes a second to process the input his eyes and ears are giving him. First, the accent that drips from his words—Kansai dialect. Second, the man himself—big brown eyes, thick eyebrows, wide shoulders, lopsided smile. A spark of recognition runs down his back as he swears he has seen this man before, somewhere, but he fails to remember the context, the name, the situation, or anything remotely useful. Old high school acquaintance? Cousin of a friend of a friend? Long-forgotten Hyogo neighbour? He comes up empty.</p><p>At the very least, the man doesn’t seem to recognize him in return, so Suna puts his memory highlight reel aside for the moment and greets back politely, hoping he didn’t throw any weird looks at the guy in his fleeting moment of befuddlement. He walks up to the counter and peers at the onigiri on display, organized by types of filling, while the other man gives him time and space to make his choice, busying himself by tidying up a few scattered kitchen utensils.</p><p>But between all the unnervingly good looking onigiri and the overwhelming need to remember where he has previously met this man, he finds that his mind can’t settle on a definite answer for either of his turmoils. He feels his brow furrowing, and his uncertainty must be obvious as the man speaks up after a minute, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Need any help?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah, actually. Which one is your best?” He replies, gesturing at the onigiri as if it isn’t obvious, hoping that makes his choice a little easier.</p><p>The man chuckles and crosses his arms, leaning his hip against the counter. Smooth. Confident. Handsome. “They’re all great, I promise.”</p><p>Bold answer. But that doesn’t help Suna in the slightest.</p><p><em> Fuck it </em>, he figures. If they’re as great he claims them to be, then Suna is bound to come back and have a chance to try all the other different fillings. Might as well start from the beginning.</p><p>He walks to the very first line of onigiri in the display and gestures at them. “Alright, I’ll take one of these, then. To go, please.”</p><p>The man hums in assent and fetches a small paper bag, in which he gently puts the onigiri with gloved hands. He hands it to Suna over the counter.</p><p>“That’s one tamago onigiri. Can I get ya anythin’ else?</p><p>“That would be all, thank you.”</p><p>They walk to the register on the far end of the counter and Suna pays, feeling his stomach grumbling with renewed hunger now that he’s actually holding food. He pockets his wallet and throws a quick thanks, to which the man replies with a short wave and a <em> thank you, enjoy! </em></p><p>Once he’s outside and on his way to his usual metro station, he unwraps the onigiri and takes a tentative first bite. Then he stops dead in his tracks. The egg is soft, perfectly seasoned, and the rice has just the right texture and stickiness. Even the rice to filling ratio is on point. It’s a good onigiri. It’s great. It’s the best damn onigiri he’s ever eaten made by anyone else other than his mum. It’s certainly better than any store-bought onigiri has the right to be.</p><p>Standing in the middle of the street marvelling at the wonders of this perfect little rice ball, all thoughts of familiar faces put on the back burner for the moment, he knows he will be back.</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>“Welcome! Back for more?”</p><p>It’s been two weeks since Suna first stepped foot into the shop, but it’s his third time walking in there—the second one having been only two days ago. He was half hoping he wouldn’t be greeted by the same guy, but alas, there he stands behind the counter, welcoming him in with the same lazy smile as before.</p><p>“You can’t sell onigiri this good and expect people not to come back,” he argues. That earns him a grin. The man still looks awfully familiar to Suna, but after two weeks of racking his brain and feeling like the answer is just on the tip of his tongue, constantly evading him, it has now become just a small itch he can’t scratch that he hopes will go away soon.</p><p>“Well, it’s what keeps the business runnin’. What can I get ya today?”</p><p>This time, the choice is easy. Suna walks up to the glass display and points to the third line of onigiri. Salmon filling.</p><p>“One of these, please.”</p><p>“Anythin’ else?”</p><p>Suna is tempted, but there’s dinner to be had and a diet to be followed. He shakes his head, “That’s all for today.”</p><p>“Alright. I’ll make you a new one ‘cause those have been sittin’ there for a while. Mind waitin’?”</p><p>“Not at all.”</p><p>The man pulls on gloves, brings out the necessary tools and ingredients, and gets to making the onigiri right there. Suna watches him. From his focused expression, to the way his hands curl softly around the rice to give it shape, to the way he carries himself around the store, there’s something about him that says he’s neither a newbie to this nor a mere hired employee. He’s something more than that. Curiosity strikes Suna.</p><p>“Are you from the Kansai region?” He pipes up, even though he’s sure he already knows the answer. The accent and dialect are unmistakable. Actually, it’s so obvious that the question just sounds plain dumb, so he adds, “Which part?”</p><p>The man looks up while he gives the onigiri in his hands some final touches. “Hyogo,” he says.</p><p>“Oh.” So he <em> could </em> possibly be someone Suna has met in passing during his short stays in his hometown. It’s still a shot in the dark, though, given how big the prefecture is. “I’m from Hyogo too.”</p><p>“Really? Ya sure don’t sound like it,” the man comments, surprised.</p><p>“I’ve lived most of my life in Tokyo, but I was born down there. What brought you to Tokyo, if you don’t mind me asking?”</p><p>“This,” the man replies, gesturing at the space around them. “It’s my shop.” Ah. So Suna’s hunch hadn’t been wrong. “Started out in my hometown, business was good for more than a couple o’ years, so we took the leap and decided to branch out.” He reaches for a small paper bag and sets the onigiri inside as he speaks. “I came to Tokyo so I could closely monitor it. Been here for three months, give or take.”</p><p>A young entrepreneur with an obvious passion for food, Suna muses to himself. He doesn’t look much older than him, and Suna mentally acknowledges the grit that is needed to start up a business at such a relatively young age.</p><p>He’s handed the onigiri and they move to the register.</p><p>“Seems like it’s a good thing you’ve got going on.”</p><p>“Cheers. Can I ask ya what brings you to this part of Tokyo? Do ya live or work around here? Gotta keep my market research up to date.”</p><p>“I play for EJP Raijin. You might’ve noticed our training center just next door.” It’s difficult to miss it. He briefly wonders if he needs to elaborate and explain he’s talking about a V.League volleyball team, but the other man seems to know exactly what he means.</p><p>“Ah, right. I thought I saw the emblem on yer jacket the other day, but I wasn’t sure.”</p><p>Suna can’t fully recall what he had been wearing the last time he’d walked in here, but it is indeed possible it had been his team’s jacket. “It’s likely. Have none of my teammates dropped by yet?”</p><p>“Not that I know of,” the man says with a purse of his lips as he takes the money Suna gives him and hands back the change. “Thanks for droppin’ by, though.”</p><p>“Of course.” Suna turns to leave. “Best of luck with the business.”</p><p>“Hey, thanks! What’s your name, by the way?”</p><p>“Suna.” He turns around before he leaves through the door. “Suna Rintarou. Yours?”</p><p>“Osamu.”</p><p>First name only. Suna doesn’t give it much thought. “Nice to meet you, Osamu-san. I’ll be seeing you.”</p><p>Osamu throws him a short wave. “See ya next time.”</p><p>Suna leaves and unwraps his onigiri. Not surprisingly, it’s just as good, if not better, than the previous two. He ought to tell his teammates about this place some day.</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Two months pass and Suna inevitably becomes a regular. Fridays have become his designated onigiri days.</p><p>There’s something about the established routine of getting a late evening snack at the end of the week that keeps dragging him back to the quiet corner shop, if the opportunity arises. The onigiri are great and Osamu is never short on sardonic things to say about any and all subjects, to which Suna responds with his own brand of biting sarcasm. They’d actually hit it off quite well, and the line between their customer-employee relationship and them just being <em> friends </em> blurs more with each week that passes.</p><p>Suna learns they’re about the same age. He learns Osamu rides a motorbike to get around Tokyo, the same one that is often parked right outside the shop. He learns Osamu doesn’t work the morning shift because he’s often busy with administrative work for the two stores he owns. There’s usually a girl working the mornings. He learns the rice used for the onigiri comes straight from a rice farm in Hyogo, owned by a friend of Osamu’s. He learns Osamu used to dye his hair in high school to match his greyish brown eyes, but now prefers to keep it naturally black, with a close cut undercut on the back. It looks good on him.</p><p>He also learns he frequently drops by dangerously close to Nigiru’s closing time. That’s why Osamu is always cleaning and the shop is often empty when he comes in. That makes him the last client of the day more often than not, and for that reason, he never lingers for too long, not wanting to disrupt the cleaning up routine. He’ll stay for a few minutes of casual talk, sometimes even eats his onigiri inside, but he’s out the door as soon as Osamu reaches for the heavier cleaning supplies, even though the other man never once shows any signs of wanting him to leave and clear the space.</p><p>Today is no different in that aspect—it’s late when he leaves practice. Later than usual, in fact, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Osamu had already locked the doors to the shop. He decides to drop by anyway, maybe because he likes seeing Osamu a bit more than he might care to admit, maybe because today, in particular, he needs someone else’s voice to quiet down the storm that has been steadily building in his head since his first morning practice.</p><p>Osamu is still inside when he arrives, back turned to the door while he cleans the countertops. All the onigiri have been cleared from the glass displays and that might mean Suna has arrived too late, but he still peeks his head inside and knocks softly on the glass door.</p><p>“Still open?”</p><p>Osamu turns around and smiles when he sees him. “For you, sure. Come on in,” he beckons, then steps behind the counter. Suna steps inside the store. “Saved ya some,” the other man says, producing a glass container from the back room, which Suna now knows is but a small kitchen. About a handful of onigiri are stored inside when Osamu opens the container and shows it to Suna, who approaches him with a small sound of surprise.</p><p>“How did you know I was going to come by?” Suna can’t help but crack a smile. “I’m a very busy man, you know.”</p><p>“Sure you are, Mr. Volleyball Superstar,” Osamu replies, then nods to the container. “Take yer pick. They’re all yours, if you want ‘em. Nobody’s gonna eat ‘em but me.”</p><p>“Just one is fine, thank you,” Suna says, and reaches for the salt kombu onigiri with a napkin.</p><p>Osamu’s last comment makes him wonder if he often eats the shop’s leftovers and if that has anything to do with the rounded edges on what was certainly a solid athlete build back in the day. The broad shoulders, strong neck, thick thighs, and his overall firm figure tell Suna that Osamu must have been dedicated to some kind of sport for most of his teenagehood, but he has since turned into a softer shape.</p><p>He thanks Osamu for the food and hands him the money over the counter, leaning against it while he waits for the change. The shop is beautiful at this time of the day—there’s a small park across the street that opens up the area around it and allows a sliver of sunset light to slip through distant buildings. It’s that golden light that comes in through the big windows now, accentuating the warm colour palette of the walls and furniture. Even Osamu shines warmer in it.</p><p>The thought of going underground and getting in a crowded train pales in comparison to idling inside this suspended piece of peace even for just another five minutes. Suna is tired.</p><p>Lost in his head, he doesn’t notice Osamu reaching his hand out to him so he can take his change. It’s only when he nudges him gently in the shoulder that Suna’s attention is brought back to him.</p><p>“Oh, thank you.” He takes the money and pockets it. “Are you almost done with clean up?”</p><p>Osamu looks around as he assesses the state of the shop, probably making a mental checklist of what he still has to do. “Still gotta clean some things and close the register. Oh, and maybe cut some pickles to take home for dinner. Twenty minutes, tops. Why d’ya ask?”</p><p>Twenty minutes is plenty. It’s enough to feed his futile hope that the metro will be just a little less crowded when he gets to it.</p><p>“Do you mind if I sit here for a while?” He asks, gesturing at the tall benches and tables by the windows that make up the entirety of the furniture on the clients’ side of the store.</p><p>“Of course not. You never sit down, but yer allowed to, ya know.”</p><p>Suna hums. “Don’t wanna disrupt your cleaning regimen.”</p><p>“I’ll tell ya as soon as you’re overstaying yer welcome.” Suna doesn’t doubt that statement. “So go on.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Suna pushes himself off the counter and sits sideways on the bench closest to the wall so he can lean against it, dropping his heavy sports bag in the seat next to him. A big sigh makes it out of him as soon as he settles down, body deflating like a balloon. A long meeting in the morning, a particularly strenuous workout followed by a complicated practice session and a second, even longer meeting had drained him to the bone. He eats his onigiri in silence, looking out onto the street as he listens to Osamu bustling about behind him.</p><p>His exhaustion must be more obvious than he thought, though, because a cup of piping hot tea is set next to him just a few minutes later. Osamu is leaning over the benches and giving him a curious look. At the questioning look Suna shoots him in return, he speaks up, “Ya don’t look so good. No offense.”</p><p>None taken. Suna musters up the mental energy to grin at him instead. “Why, do I not look like my bright and cheery self?”</p><p>“Ya have a bright and cheery self? I’d pay to see that,” Osamu retorts, and despite his current mood, Suna laughs along with Osamu, feeling a little corner of his mind brightening up. “Seriously, though. Everythin’ okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Rough day, that’s all.”</p><p>“Sorry to hear that.”</p><p>“‘s fine. Comes with the job,” Suna says with a shrug. “Just gotta sleep it off.”</p><p>Osamu points to the tea. “Drink that, then.”</p><p>“You really didn’t have to. But thank you.” He reaches for the cup and brings it up to his face. It smells good. Too good. “What is this?” He asks.</p><p>“Home brewn mix,” Osamu tells him as we walks back to stand behind the counter. Suna almost rolls his eyes because <em> of course </em> it’s him who makes it.</p><p>“Were you born with the Midas touch or something? Is everything you cook this good?”</p><p>Osamu reaches for a cutting board, a knife, and a jar of pickled radish, which he begins cutting into thin stripes and storing in a glass container. He barks a laugh at Suna’s words. “I just love food. And I happen to like cookin’ it too. No big deal.”</p><p>“Do you bake too?” For future reference, Suna tells himself.</p><p>Osamu throws him a knowing glance. “Why, d’ya have somethin’ of a sweet tooth on ya?”</p><p>Suna smiles innocently and kicks his feet at being so easily seen through, then nods, mouthful of rice.</p><p>“What kinda—oh, fuck.”</p><p>The sudden hiss from Osamu and the clatter of a fallen knife make Suna look up, smile wiped from his face. He climbs down from the bench, the last bite of onigiri and cooling tea forgotten for the moment, as Osamu keeps muttering a series of profanities in quick succession. His left hand is tightly clutched against his stomach.</p><p>“Did you hurt yourself? Are you—oh. Shit.” It’s Suna’s time to swear when he walks closer to the counter and is able to see the cutting board Osamu was working on smeared with a startlingly large amount of blood.</p><p>Osamu has moved past his initial shock and is now running his hand under water in the sink to wash off the blood that has spread to both of his palms and even trickled down his wrist.</p><p>“Where’s your first aid kit? Let me help you,” Suna says, unable to just stand around and do nothing.</p><p>Osamu’s face is pinched with pain when he nods over his shoulder to a first aid kit tucked against the wall on the far end of the counter. Suna takes that as his permission to step in and help, so he excuses himself and slips behind the counter, grabbing the first aid kit and walking over to the sink where Osamu still has blood and water running down the drain. He opens the box and takes out pads and a roll of gauze, scissors, medical tape, and a bottle of saline solution.</p><p>“How bad is it? Can I see?” Suna nudges Osamu’s hands away from the stream of water to access the damage.</p><p>Osamu opens his uninjured hand that he still has clutched around his finger and lets him take a look. There’s a deep cut across his left pointer finger, which wells up with blood again as soon as it’s out of running water. It’s nasty, but it doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches. Suna quickly nudges it back under the tap.</p><p>“Doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks,” Osamu says, even though his brow is still pinched. “Sorry ya have to see this.”</p><p>Suna dismisses his apology with a wave of his wand. “Keep it under water while I get things ready.”</p><p>Osamu does as he says and Suna busies himself with cutting a strip of gauze, folding it, and dousing it in saline solution. Then he hands it to Osamu, who shuts the tap and presses the gauze tightly against the wound to further stop the bleeding, periodically checking in on it under the wet cloth to see how much blood is still coming out. Suna waits patiently next to him, cutting a longer strip of gauze when the bleeding visibly slows down.</p><p>“Here, let me bandage you up,” Suna says, beckoning Osamu’s injured hand into his own open hand with a gesture of his fingers. Osamu offers his injured hand without a peep, eyes casted down between them, fixed on his wound. Suna gets rid of the bloody cloth and presses a pad against the cut, securing it in place with the strip of gauze. Osamu helps him wrap it around his finger the best he can.</p><p>As he tends to Osamu’s wound, Suna can’t help but notice the other small scars on his hands. Amidst a myriad of small scratches, the one that crosses the width of both his ring and pinky fingers catches his attention, long, thin, and healed, most likely from an old cut. There’s also a big one on one of his knuckles, big and irregular—a burn scar.</p><p>Side by side, their hands don’t look that different. Sure, Suna’s are bigger, with long, slender fingers, while Osamu’s are on the broader, but gentle, side; but they’re equally battered up, as they both have jobs that ask a lot out of their hands—except Suna blocks spikes and slams balls into the ground while Osamu gives shape to perfect onigiri with those careful hands of his.</p><p>A light puff of breath against the side of his face brings him back from his musings and makes him realize this is the closest they’ve ever been, physically. He can smell Osamu’s light cologne and hear his even breathing. Quiet, close.</p><p>“Does this happen often?” Suna asks, just to have something to say.</p><p>“What, havin’ clients bandagin’ me up after I show them how much of a klutz I am with knives? It’s certainly a first.” Despite his jesting tone, there’s a touch of pink high up on his ears when Suna looks at him, which makes him wonder if Osamu’s relative silence since this whole ordeal started has been driven by embarrassment towards his own clumsiness.</p><p>“That’s not what I meant, but good to know.” Suna grins and jokes back. “I’m no expert at running food businesses but here’s my two cents—don’t go chopping fingers off in front of any more of your clients. Human blood and food don’t mix well.”</p><p>Osamu laughs. “Noted. Should I be worried about the reputation of my brand now that you have witnessed this?”</p><p>“I won’t tell a soul,” Suna says, finishing up the bandage with some medical tape to keep everything in its right place. Then he lets go of Osamu’s hand.</p><p>“Much appreciated. Good to know I won’t have to tie you up and keep you in the pantry,” Osamu quips and Suna huffs a laugh. Then, referring to his neatly bandaged finger with a much more sincere voice, “Thanks for the help. That was a particularly nasty cut.” He turns his hand over, inspecting Suna’s handiwork, slowly flexing his fingers.</p><p>“Don’t mention it.” Suna turns to tidy up the first aid kit and put everything back inside, but Osamu stops him with a hand on his arm.</p><p>“I can do that, you can go back to your tea now,” he says.</p><p>Suna shrugs him off and nudges him away from the sink towards the bloody cutting board with a hand on his back. “I got this. You worry about your own mess instead.”</p><p>Osamu looks like he’s about to protest but gives up when Suna narrows his eyes at him. He resigns himself to the task of disinfecting every surface behind the small shop counter.</p><p>First aid kit back into its rightful place, Suna goes back to his spot by the window to finish his onigiri and slowly sip at his tea, but this time he finds himself unable to disconnect from Osamu bustling about. The sun has set and its golden light is gone, so Suna quietly focuses on the sounds of the other man cleaning up instead.</p><p>“How much do I owe you for the tea?” He asks when he’s done with it.</p><p>Osamu looks up sharply from where he’s sweeping the floor behind the counter. “Yer kidding, right? It’s on me.”</p><p>Suna pouts lightly. “I don’t want any freebies from you, though.” Something about taking free things from small businesses just doesn’t sit right with him.</p><p>“It’s a gift, Suna-kun. Pay me a beer one of these days if it makes ya feel better.”</p><p>“Oh, and I will,” Suna says, walking up to the counter to drop off the empty mug and point a threatening finger at Osamu. “I pay my debts.” Osamu scoffs.</p><p>He ends up staying until Osamu is ready to close for the day. Contrary to what he’d initially said, he never really asks Suna to leave. He even goes as far as to threaten him with a mop to the face when Suna makes to move when he starts the floor, telling him to stay put. Suna thinks that maybe he isn’t the only one enjoying the quiet companionship today.</p><p>They walk out of the shop together a while later. Osamu asks Suna to hold on to his heavy leather jacket and bike helmet while he locks up, then they walk the few short meters to where Osamu’s motorcycle is parked.</p><p>“Thanks for the tea,” he says, handing the helmet back to Osamu after he puts his leather jacket on.</p><p>“Thanks for the help,” Osamu responds, wiggling his bandaged finger in the air. He pats the cushioned seat of this bike behind him. “D’ya want a ride anywhere?”</p><p>“Ah, some other day, maybe,” Suna declines before he’s tempted to accept. He’s tired, both mental and physically, and the adrenaline that inevitably comes with being on top of a bike might just be enough to send him off to an early grave—being in such close proximity to Osamu being the last nail on his coffin. “Thank you, though.”</p><p>“Alright. See ya around then.”</p><p>Osamu shoulders his backpack and Suna waves him goodbye. “See you around, Osamu-kun.”</p><p>Suna turns to leave, but not before he steals a glance at the other man mounting his bike and fastening his helmet. Somehow, Suna’s brain had never fully registered what Osamu riding a bike <em> actually </em>entailed. Yes, Osamu is hot. Suna has known this since the first day he laid eyes on him. But the sight of him straddling a high-speed machine in tight black jeans and a leather jacket hits him like a brick to the head.</p><p>He leaves with a brainful of Osamu and can’t help chancing another look back when he hears the sound of a motorbike roaring to life behind him. Osamu takes off in the opposite direction, leaving a rather dumbstruck Suna behind.</p><p>The rush hour crowd has died down considerably when he enters the metro, and he finds that the storm in his head has gone from rumbling thunder to a light autumn shower. Thank fuck for Fridays. And Osamu.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>The next time Suna shows up, Osamu is busy dealing with a client, which is unusual at such a late hour. It’s a girl. Suna can’t see her face but she doesn’t look much younger than either of them. He enters the shop without a word and takes a seat by the window, observing the exchange.</p><p>Osamu wraps up half a dozen onigiri with careful hands, then slides the package over to the girl with a kind smile—different from the lazy smiles Suna usually gets from him. Suna continues watching with no little amount of amusement as the girl trips over her words of thanks, visibly flustered as they walk to the register and handle the payment. She leaves after one more smile from Osamu, clutching the onigiri box tightly in her hands, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Suna. Both Osamu and Suna stay quiet until she’s out the door.</p><p>Then Suna grins, wide and roguish. “Aren’t you a charming one.”</p><p>“If it keeps ‘em coming back,” Osamu says nonchalantly, ending the sentence with a shrug of his shoulders.</p><p>“So your marketing strategy is to make your clients fall in love with you?” And that’s as much of a valid strategy as any, Suna guesses.</p><p>“Careful now, yer one of my regulars, in case you haven’t noticed. Are you fallin’ for me?”</p><p>Suna rises from his chair and walks over to the counter. Osamu follows him with his eyes from where he’s still standing behind the register, matching grin on his lips.</p><p>“You know what they say,” Suna says, resting his hip against the counter, “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, or whatever. You might just be on the right track.”</p><p>He means it as a joke. A bad one, too. It’s only flirting if Osamu looks at it a certain way, but Suna isn’t sure what to expect. Maybe a <em> sorry, I don’t do dudes </em> or an awkward laugh. It wouldn’t be the first time Suna hears that from someone, though that’s certainly not what he wants to hear coming from this man.</p><p>“‘s that why ya keep comin’ back every week?” Osamu says instead, smile never faltering.</p><p>Suna neither confirms nor denies it because, admittedly, it’s been a bit of both lately—onigiri and Osamu. The onigiri are incredible—food for the stomach. Osamu is Osamu—food for the eyes and the soul.</p><p>“Your onigiri are the best I’ve ever eaten,” Suna states simply.</p><p>Osamu walks over to the back of the glass display where a few rice balls remain. “Which one is it gonna be today, then?”</p><p>“Ah, I got a different kind of order today. Would you kill me if I asked you to make me two dozen onigiri?”</p><p>“Kill ya? I’d smooch ya.” Osamu’s eyes are open wide with surprise, not batting an eyelash at what he’d just said. Suna doesn’t either. “Ya mean it—24 onigiri, f’real?”</p><p>“Of course. Got a few friends coming over today, lots of hungry mouths to feed. I can’t cook to save my life so, please.”</p><p>Osamu chuckles, looking ecstatic with Suna’s massive order. “Alright, better get to work, then. How many of each?”</p><p>“Two of each? And then whatever you still have lying around,” Suna says, nodding to the onigiri inside the glass display. After having tried all ten onigiri fillings the shop has to offer, Suna can now gladly confirm that Osamu hadn’t been wrong when he’d said all kinds of fillings were great when Suna had first stepped foot in the store a few months ago.</p><p>Osamu gets to collect all the necessary ingredients and tools on the countertop, his workspace quickly turning into organized chaos. “This might take a while,” he says, “You can have a seat, if ya want.”</p><p>“I like watching,” Suna says. Then adds, “If that’s okay?”</p><p>Osamu shrugs, nonchalant. “Suit yerself.”</p><p>Suna watches quietly as Osamu works, like he’s done so many times before when Osamu offers to make him fresh onigiri instead of feeding him the ones that have been sitting on the shelf for a bit too long. The cut he got last week isn’t fully healed yet because he still works with a rubber finger glove covering his pointer finger, protecting both the wound and the food he works with. It doesn’t seem to hinder his movements in the slightest, though, as he expertly gets to making perfect rice ball after perfect rice ball.</p><p>“You’ll be single-handedly keepin’ the business afloat if ya keep at it like this,” Osamu says after a minute with a playful tilt of his head, not taking his eyes off of the task at hand.</p><p>Suna knows it’s a joke from the tone of his voice, but he can’t help the worried frown that takes over his face. “Is business bad?” he asks.</p><p>Osamu looks up sharply at him, probably not having expected Suna to take it that way.</p><p>“That was a joke. Didn’t mean to worry ya. Drop the face already.” Suna doesn’t and Osamu sighs, getting back to work. “We’re fine, really. It’s just that gettin’ a business to take off in a city as saturated as Tokyo ain’t easy, ya know. Our branch in Hyogo is definitely doin’ better. But we’ve only been here for a handful of months anyway.”</p><p>“What if it doesn’t take off at all?”</p><p>Osamu shrugs. “Well, if it reaches a point where it’s financially impossible to keep it goin’, obviously, I’ll have to accept defeat, close down, and go back to Hyogo. But for now I’m doin’ everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen. We’re not taking off full speed ahead, but it’s slowly pickin’ up.”</p><p>Suna still looks wary, but that eases his mind somewhat. He doesn’t doubt Osamu’s dedication to his business and he hopes the invisible hand doesn’t deal him a bad one. He’s got it all to succeed, really—incredible food, a nice place, competitive prices and cool staff (Suna may be biased on this one)—but he knows it isn’t often that simple.</p><p>“Don’t go leaving me without my Friday afternoon snack now,” Suna teases, feeling responsible for the cloud of uncertainty that he’d brought down onto them and hoping to dissipate it.</p><p>Luckily, Osamu doesn’t seem very affected by it. “I don’t intend to, don’t worry,” he says, easy smile on his lips, and just like that the moment is gone.</p><p>They chatter about everything and nothing while Osamu works, gently placing each finished onigiri in a natural-coloured cardboard box with the shop’s logo printed in white on the cover. By the time he’s finished, he’s packed two boxes with twelve pieces each, and he ties them up with twine thread to make sure they don’t pop open on the way home.</p><p>Suna still needs to go home, get changed, and make the final preparations around his house to welcome his friends, so he doesn’t linger for long after that. He pays and thanks Osamu for saving him from doing his part of the cooking, promising to tell every single one of his friends where he bought the onigiri from after he steals a handful of business cards from a box next to the register. Osamu waves him goodbye with a smile that turns his eyes into crescents.</p><p>Suna sets the boxes on his kitchen counter when he gets home and opens the one on top. The packaging is simple but pretty, in neutral tones that match the interior of the shop. The perfectly aligned rows of onigiri are almost too immaculate to touch but he must transfer them onto a table-appropriate platter. Before he does that, as he takes a moment to appreciate Osamu’s impeccable handiwork, an idea pops into his mind.</p><p>He goes to fetch his phone from his bag and walks back to the kitchen while he opens his instagram app and searches for the name of the shop. The icon of a familiar logo pops up on the first search result and he taps the name of the account. <em> Bingo </em>. It’s a joint account for both their Hyogo and Tokyo stores with a couple thousand followers and a pretty feed. Between the Hyogo-related posts, Suna scrolls far down enough to see the post announcing the opening of the Tokyo store, sees pictures of the shop he’s come to know so well and plenty others of just onigiri.</p><p>He gives the account a follow and proceeds with his plan, moving the boxes closer to the window where the last rays of sun are still shining golden. He snaps a few photos, trying different angles where both the logo of the shop and the onigiri are visible. Then he chooses one and slaps a filter on it. He’s no influencer by any means, but he’s garnered a respectable following from tens of thousands of fans since he went pro, so he wants to think he can reach a few dozens of people, at the very least. It won’t make Osamu’s business skyrocket, but it won’t hurt it either.</p><p>He keeps it simple and posts the photo with the caption <em> have been greatly enjoying these lately, post-pratice </em>, adding the shop’s account tag at the end. Then he locks his phone and barely looks at it for the rest of the night.</p><p>He wakes up the next morning to the usual likes, comments and a few new followers. He’s surprised to see the onigiri shop’s account is one of them. They’ve left him a comment under the post, too, a smiley emoji between an onigiri and a white heart. Suna doesn’t know if it’s Osamu who runs the account, but the thought of him communicating in cute emojis makes him smile anyway.</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Suna has an away game the following weekend which has him travelling away from Tokyo during the latter half of the week, so it’s only when two weeks have passed that he manages to find the time to return, albeit a bit later than usual.</p><p>He’s thinking about how he’s in the mood for a spicy cucumber onigiri when he walks through the door. He’s about to throw a lazy <em> hey </em> when Osamu beats him to the punch.</p><p>“Well, well, well. If it ain’t Mr. Volleyball Superstar slash Hotshot Influencer,” Osamu says with a shit-eating grin while he wipes down the glass displays.</p><p>Ah, right. Suna had <em> almost </em> forgotten about his instagram post, hadn’t it been for the likes he’d been getting from the shop’s account in the scarce posts that followed—a team picture celebrating their win over the previous week and a follow-up selfie of him thanking the faithful support from the fans.</p><p>“You must have the wrong guy,” Suna responds, walking up to Osamu on the opposite side of the counter.</p><p>“Oh, I think I’d remember the only person who has ever ordered two boxes of twelve onigiri since the shop opened.”</p><p>“Oops. You got me,” Suna deadpans.</p><p>“You unleash chaos upon us and then have the nerve to disappear for two weeks.”</p><p>Suna tilts his head. Chaos? “That bad, uh?”</p><p>“Not bad. Good, we just weren’t prepared. I think our sales doubled. But ya really didn’t hafta do that, y’know?”</p><p>It’s been two weeks, but it’s only now, here, standing in front of Osamu and hearing him speak those words that Suna wonders for the first time if he had crossed some sort of boundary with his post. Maybe if he had asked for permission or given Osamu a warning first, it would have been less chaotic. Osamu doesn’t look mad in the slightest, but the seed of doubt has been planted in his brain and Suna needs to be absolutely sure.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I overstep?”</p><p>Osamu shakes his head, dismissing him immediately. “‘s not like that. It’s just—thank you. For supporting us. Means a lot.” He casts his gaze down halfway through his words, busying himself by furiously wiping the counter.</p><p>Ah. There’s also the possibility that it’s just Osamu who is a bit shy, making him dance around the words of thanks. Suna smiles and leans his body forward with his hands on the hip-height counter, hoping to get Osamu’s eyes on him again.</p><p>“Of course. Support local businesses and whatnot. Is that not what the cool kids say these days?”</p><p>That earns him a little smile. “I dunno, do I look like someone who knows what the cool kids are up to these days?”</p><p>“You sure looked like one the last time I saw you, sitting on that thing over there,” Suna says with a grin, gesturing over his back at the motorbike visible through the shop’s front windows. Osamu looks up at it.</p><p>“Ah, that’s all her, though. She’s a cool kid all on her own.”</p><p>Suna looks back at the bike and gives it a once over. It’s certainly a pretty, sleek machine, deceptively discreet, but, “She looks better with you on top.”</p><p>Yes, it’s been two weeks, but the image of Osamu climbing onto it still makes an appearance at the forefront of Suna’s thoughts. He can’t help it. He can’t help the words that tumble past his lips either; it’s the truth, even if that makes him cross the line that goes from <em> light flirting </em> to <em> I think you’re hot and I’m saying it to your face </em>.</p><p>A pause follows. Suna looks back at Osamu and oh, isn’t messing with him just pure <em> fun </em>—the tips of his ears have gone from light pink to red and the flush has spread to his cheeks, but he still keeps his stupidly handsome smirk on as if that will distract Suna from the fact that he’s flustered and clutching the rag in his hands a bit too tight.</p><p>But to his credit, Osamu does hold his ground quite well. “Ya oughta ride it with me one of these days, then.”</p><p>Suna grins, half-lidded eyes narrowing further than usual. “I’d like that.”</p><p>Osamu huffs a laugh and shakes his head, then slings the cleaning rag over his shoulder with a sharp motion as he turns to tend to the counter on the back and just like that, they shrug the moment off, like they’ve done many times before. Their flirting is always like this—fun, but inconsequential. Whether that’s because they’re nothing more than a couple of idiots who like to tease each other too much, or because they’re hesitant to take it further, Suna doesn’t know. Or, well, he knows it’s the latter for him, but he doesn’t know which one it is for Osamu.</p><p>Suna looks down at the glass display in front of him, finding it emptier than usual, as Osamu gets to organizing piles of cardboard packaging.</p><p>“Oh. No more spicy cucumber?” He asks, bottom lip jutting out.</p><p>Osamu’s attention returns to him, and he snaps his fingers like he’s just remembered something. “Oh, right. I made ya these.” He produces a box from below the counter, similar to the ones Suna had taken home two weeks before, but smaller.</p><p>Suna takes it hesitantly. “What’s this?”</p><p>“They’re for you. A thank you gift for the free promo. I was hoping you’d drop by today so I made and packed them just before you arrived.”</p><p>Suna pops the box open and is greeted with the sight of six little rice balls, as perfect as ever.</p><p>“Six? Who do you take me for, a married man with two kids?”</p><p>Osamu brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Nah, just—I didn’t know how else to repay ya.”</p><p>Suna sets the box on the counter and slides it between them. “Here’s a thought—you don’t have to.”</p><p>Osamu slides it back to him. “Please. Just take them.”</p><p>“Fine,” Suna says, picking up the box. “Eat them with me, then.”</p><p>Osamu sighs, exasperated. “Why is it always so hard to get you to accept things from me?”</p><p>“Because I’m a decent friend and a dedicated customer? Now shut it and come over here.” Suna walks to the long table by the window and takes a seat, beckoning Osamu over.</p><p>Osamu slides from behind the counter after getting rid of the cleaning cloth on his shoulder and washing his hands, then grabs a bundle of napkins on his way to join Suna by the window. Suna saves two onigiri to take home and they eat the other four, two each, lost in casual conversation.</p><p>Suna only decides to leave when he sees it’s well past closing time and Osamu still has a lot to clean. They get up and Osamu takes the used napkins and takeaway box to dispose of it in the back.</p><p>Suna follows after him and slaps a 1000 yen bill on the counter. “For the six onigiri,” he says.</p><p>Osamu peeks his head around the frame of the kitchen door and makes a face when he see the money. He stomps toward it, sliding it back to Suna. “Not a chance in hell.”</p><p>But Suna is determined. He does not take the bill back. “You will not fight me on this.”</p><p>He turns to leave, but as he begins walking, he hears the sound of Osamu’s hand slapping against the stone counter, then the squeaking of sneakers rushing from behind the counter, in his direction. He takes a couple of hurried steps forward, ready to bolt out the door, cursing the shop’s small space when he feels Osamu gripping his arm before he can slip away. He’s forcefully yanked back and around to face a scowling Osamu, who wastes no time to aggressively stuff the offending bill deep inside Suna’s jacket pocket.</p><p>“Yer so fuckin’ stubborn, I swear,” he hisses.</p><p>Suna grabs hold of Osamu’s wrist before he, too, can run away. “And you’re just as bad.”</p><p>The words and the sudden grip around his wrist make Osamu look up and freeze on the spot when he realizes how close to each other they’d ended up. Pink ears and wide eyes, Suna suspects this hadn’t been part of his original plan. Cute.</p><p>He makes use of his extra height and leans over Osamu, shifting his weight forward, infinitesimally closer, tightening the grip on his wrist.</p><p>“You and your little shop are not allowed to go anywhere, anytime soon,” he speaks, voice barely above a whisper. Their faces are so close that raising it any higher would be inappropriate. Osamu only flushes harder and Suna knows he’s won. He plucks the bill from his own pocket with his free hand and slides it into the chest pocket of Osamu’s black apron, taping it for good measure. “I’ll only be taking freebies from you once there’s a line out this door. I’ll let you thank me then.”</p><p>He lets go of Osamu’s wrist as he takes a step back, then turns to walk out the door. Osamu’s eyes follow him, but he still looks like a deer caught in the headlights.</p><p>“I’ll see you next week, Osamu-kun,” Suna says with a wave over his shoulder. Then he’s gone.</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>The light bulb goes off in Suna’s head during an early Friday morning briefing, four months after he meets Osamu.</p><p>His coach is listing the rival teams they’re up against over the course of the upcoming month while Suna replays their previous matches together in his head, recalling their weaknesses and strengths, when a rather vivid image of a certain setter strikes him like lightning. MSBY Black Jackals’s Miya Atsumu. The spitting image of a certain onigiri man.</p><p>He jerks upright before he sinks down on his seat. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, covering half of his face, sinking further on the chair until his head is on the backrest, long legs splayed out in front of him.</p><p>Komori, who’s sitting next to him, shoots him a weird look. “You okay there?”</p><p>Suna peeks up at him from between his fingers. “Did you know Miya’s twin brother runs the onigiri shop down the street?”</p><p>“Uh. Yeah?”</p><p>Suna shoots up in his seat, hissing through his teeth so as to not disrupt the briefing. “What do you mean <em> yeah </em>? You know I’ve been going there and you didn’t tell me?”</p><p>“I thought you knew. I was talking about it with Washio in the locker room just the other day. What planet have you been living in, Suna?”</p><p>“One where I hadn’t thought about Miya Atsumu in a long time. It was fucking great while it lasted. And that <em> asshole </em>—” He begins, thinking of Osamu, but decides to save his wrath for later that day, for someone who is not Komori and actually deserves it.</p><p>Komori shakes his head at him but lets him wallow in his misery in peace, tuning back into the briefing.</p><p>Suna barges into the onigiri shop later much that day, gym bag clutched in his hand instead of slung across his shoulder so it’ll be easier and faster to fling at Osamu should worst come to worst.</p><p>Osamu’s attention is on him immediately, as it always is. “Hey y—”</p><p>“I know who you are,” Suna interrupts.</p><p>Osamu’s stupid thick eyebrows fly up on his forehead. “Oh. And who might that be?”</p><p>“You’re Miya Atsumu’s twin brother.”</p><p>A beat of silence. Osamu’s face twitches with a flurry of emotions. Surprise. Bewilderment. Realization. And finally, laughter, boisterous and with a level of abandonment Suna has never seen from him before. Suna hates that it’s contagious. He bites down the smile that threatens to show on his lips; he’s got to keep up the angry act a bit longer, for the sake of his wounded pride.</p><p>“That only took ya, like, fours months to figure out?” Osamu breathes out between wheezes.</p><p>“Hey, fuck you. You were hiding it from me this whole time.” Suna walks the remaining distance up to the counter. Osamu holds up a finger, signaling he has something to say while he covers his face to try and contain his giggles. Suna glares at him.</p><p>One, two deep breaths, and he’s finally able to clear his throat and speak for more than one breath at a time.</p><p>“Okay, in my defense, I wasn’t hidin’ it from you.”</p><p>“Right. So I’m guessing you always introduce yourself by your first name only, then?” Suna hadn’t thought much of it until today, when the puzzle pieces fell into place. Osamu’s last name would have been a dead giveaway.</p><p>Osamu opens his mouth, then closes it again, visibly backtracking. “Let me try again. In my defense, I only hid it from you <em> in the beginning </em>.” When Suna looks like he’s about to object, he holds a second finger up. “Listen to me. Ya come in the first day, do a double take at me and make a weird face. I’ve had a twin brother for twenty five years, d’ya realize how many times I’ve been on the receiving end of that exact same look? I knew ya recognized me but couldn’t place me.”</p><p>Ah. So Suna’s confusion had not gone unnoticed. How embarrassing.</p><p>Osamu continues, “Then I saw the Raijin logo on your jacket and decided not to spoil it for ya when you asked me my name. I <em> was </em> plannin’ to come clean eventually, but at some point you stopped lookin’ at me weird and you never brought it up either, so I assumed you had figured it out but chose not to talk about it. I wanted to respect that.”</p><p>“How very thoughtful of you,” Suna sneers.</p><p>“I wasn’t tryin’ to mess with ya, promise.”</p><p>“Except when you were. At the beginning.”</p><p>“Right. I do apologize for that. It was a snowball that got out of hand.”</p><p>Osamu’s big eyes are still bright with leftovers from his giggling fit, but they look sincere, and Suna stopped being mad the second Osamu started cackling in his face. Still, he keeps up the facade, eyes narrowed and lips pouted as he crosses his arms. He wants something more out of this than an apology—though he doesn’t yet know what exactly.</p><p>“I will consider your apology. If you don’t hear back from me until next week, consider yourself not forgiven.”</p><p>“Hey.” Osamu walks around the counter to come stand closer to Suna, arms and hands slightly spread out on his sides. He might not realize it, but the lack of a physical barrier really helps his case. “I mean it, I’m sorry.” </p><p>Suna tries to keep his face as indifferent as possible and looks out the window. Unconvinced.</p><p>Osamu seems to buy his act and takes a step closer. “I’ll make it up to ya.”</p><p>That picks his interest. He looks at Osamu out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah? How?”</p><p>“You tell me.”</p><p>Suna turns his head to face him fully, considering him, studying his face—the little amused smile he can’t suppress despite his apologetic eyes, the gentle tilt of his head, the hands at his side he doesn’t seem to know very well what to do with.</p><p>Suna thinks he knows what he wants; he’s putting his cards on the table. He hopes Osamu can match him.</p><p>“Take me out.”</p><p>He watches as Osamu’s eyes go from mellow to surprised in less than a heartbeat. “Wha— Ya mean—”</p><p>“Dinner, or something.”</p><p>Osamu searches his face, maybe looking for any signs of teasing or even joking, and only when he finds none does he smile, soft. “My brother’s in town so I got plans with him and a few friends later tonight, but I can do dinner, if yer free.”</p><p>Suna shuts his eyes closed at the image of Atsumu that flashes past his mind. “I’m free, but do me a favour. Don’t mention your brother again while you’re in my presence.”</p><p>“That’ll be difficult.”</p><p>“Bullshit.” Suna swats at Osamu’s chest with his hand. “You’ve been doing it for four months.”</p><p>Osamu laughs heartily. “Alright. I think I can manage for tonight. For your sake.”</p><p>“Good. Now hurry up and let’s get out of here,” Suna says, walking over to his usual bench against the wall. Then he gestures to Osamu’s motorbike outside. “Can we take your lady?”</p><p>“We sure can,” Osamu obliges, still smiling at Suna. Then he gets started on his closing up routine.</p><p>They’re out of the shop relatively fast. Osamu lets Suna help with a few bags of rice he needs to move to the back room, but that’s about as far as his contribution goes, before Osamu shoos him away when he asks if there’s anything else he can help with.</p><p>Osamu still looks as hot in his leather jacket as he did two weeks ago—no surprise there. He takes a second helmet out of the storage below one of the bike’s seats and hands it to Suna. With his helmet on, Suna hops on the bike right behind him, a spark of thrill lighting his senses on fire when Osamu brings the engine to life and it rumbles awake, reverberating through their bodies.</p><p>Osamu lets Suna lead the way. He guides them to a monjayaki place he loves. It’s crowded, as it always is, and they sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Suna lets Osamu expertly handle the grill and he does a better job maneuvering the tools than Suna or any of his friends ever could. They don’t drink any alcohol because Osamu is driving and Suna generally avoids drinking during V.League season, but that doesn’t stop them from joining in on the animated chatter and the drunken laughter around them.</p><p>Osamu is <em> fun </em>, their humour matches—though they’ve known this for a while—and Suna has a damn good time, better than any date he can recall being on within the past three years.</p><p>“You eat that,” Suna says, gesturing at the last bite of monjayaki in the grill.</p><p>Osamu takes it and savours it like it’s his very first bite. He eats so <em> well </em>—Suna gets an almost motherly pleasure watching him.</p><p>“This is a nice place.” Osamu looks around them. “I’ve been livin’ here for over half a year but I feel like there’s still so much to explore. Particularly hidden gems like this.”</p><p>Suna nudges him with his elbow. “I’d be happy to show you a few more.”</p><p>“I’d like that,” Osamu says. He crosses his arms on the table and leans forward to meet Suna’s eyes with a smile. Suna returns it.</p><p>“Does your brother know you’re fraternizing with the enemy?”</p><p>He laughs. “I thought ‘Tsumu was off-limits for the night?”</p><p>Suna has never been one to deny a little gossip. “It’s okay if <em> I </em>bring him up, though. You’re the one who’s not allowed to mention him.”</p><p>“He gave me shit for yer instagram post the other day, but that’s about it. And hey, you’re not <em> my </em> enemy. I’m the neutral party here. Actually, I’ve been feedin’ ya this whole time, so wouldn’t that make me yer ally instead?”</p><p>“Would that make your brother our common enemy?”</p><p>“Have you ever wanted to punch his shithead smile off his face?”</p><p>Suna thinks back to all the games he’s played against him. He wouldn’t quite say punch, but he’s certainly wanted to aim a few spikes at his face. The intention is the same, though. “Absolutely.”</p><p>“Then we’re most definitely on the same side,” Osamu says, grinning. Nothing quite like bonding over a bit of a healthy sports/sibling rivalry towards one Miya Atsumu, Suna thinks.</p><p>The moment is interrupted when Osamu sits upright and pulls his buzzing phone from his back pocket. The screen is lit up with a call but he declines it.</p><p>“Speak of the devil,” he says.</p><p>Suna smirks. “Tell him I said hi.”</p><p>Osamu’s grin gets wider as he types a follow-up text and Suna is inclined to believe he actually went through with the request. Then he locks his phone and purses his lips in thought.</p><p>“Think I gotta leave. It’s gettin’ late.”</p><p>The sentence is sobering, even though Suna wasn’t even drunk to begin with. Maybe he does like Osamu’s company a bit more than he’d originally anticipated.</p><p>“‘kay. Let’s go then.”</p><p>“I’ll take ya home, though.”</p><p>Suna rises to his feet and slings his gym bag over his shoulder. “That’d be cool. Thanks.”</p><p>They ask for the check and pay, then walk out into the cold night and make their way to where Osamu’s motorbike is parked. The city is alive, as it always is—particularly on a Friday night—and Suna feels good with a full belly and Osamu by his side.</p><p>Helmets on, they speed off into the night, the crisp night air cutting sharply through Suna’s clothes. He lets himself hold onto to Osamu a bit tighter, a bit closer, seeking warmth even though Osamu’s leather jacket lets barely any body heat escape. He’s managed to maintain a sliver of space between their bodies out of decency, except where his arms are locked around Osamu’s middle, and that works well enough while their ride is smooth sailing.</p><p>It’s out the window as soon as he feels the motorcycle veer sharply away from a car that turns onto their lane rather suddenly, without warning. Nothing happens thanks to Osamu’s quick reflexes, but it’s enough to make Suna close his eyes and tense up, clutching impossibly tighter to the body between his arms on instinct, heart climbing up into his throat, beating erratically.</p><p>Osamu stops on a red light a few meters ahead. Suna lets him rest his weight against him as he leans back to address him. He might be looking back at Suna over his shoulder too, but it’s hard to be sure because both of their visors are smoked black, reflecting only the city lights around them.</p><p>“I’m sorry about that. Are you okay?” He asks, voice muffled through the helmet.</p><p>As he speaks, Suna feels the gentle touch of a hand over one of his own, where he has them tightly clutched to each other over Osamu’s stomach. Maybe it’s instinctive, just like Suna had held on tighter to Osamu, but it’s also tentative and protective and tender and warm all at the same time, and Suna’s heart rate has barely had any time to rest from the incident before it’s picking up again, this time for entirely different reasons.</p><p>“I’m fine. Wasn’t your fault, anyway, so you got nothing to apologize for.” He relaxes his grip on his own hand and spreads his fingers apart, an invitation for Osamu to slip his own fingers between the gaps. Osamu takes it and Suna smiles, even though the other man can’t see it. Pressed up against each other, holding hands in the middle of the road, he wonders if Osamu’s ears have gone pink under the helmet yet.</p><p>There’s not much time for any further conversation as the light turns green. Osamu lets go of his hand with a meaningful squeeze, then gets them on the move again.</p><p>It takes about ten minutes and no further scares to reach Suna’s apartment complex. He points out his door to Osamu and he brings the bike to a stop on a parking spot close to it. Osamu kills the engine and it suddenly feels deafeningly silent inside Suna’s head. He unsticks himself from Osamu’s back and uses his shoulders as leverage to climb off the bike and hop onto solid ground.</p><p>He begins thinking about what to say to Osamu as he fiddles with the buckle of his helmet below his chin. <em> Thanks for dinner. That was fun. Let’s do it again? See you next week </em>, are all viable options. Safe and harmless. But they might need a little more than that if they are ever to go anywhere. The thing with them being constantly half-serious, half-joking between themselves is that it also applies to their casual flirting, and after so many weeks of inconsequential back-and-forth, it’s beginning to feel like habit—like a limbo that is both fun but torturous. Sure, they went out for dinner. But what next?</p><p>So as he thinks of ways to move forward without scaring Osamu away, he manages to take his helmet off, then ruffles his hair, hoping to buy himself some time before Osamu says goodbye and rides away into the night.</p><p>His thoughts come to a crashing halt when he feels a light tug on the side pocket of his pants. Behind him, Osamu is still mounted on the bike. His more experienced hands had made quick work of his helmet so now he sits there, hair a bit of a mess, beckoning Suna back to him with heavy eyes and a finger hooked on his pocket.</p><p>Suna goes willingly, because the sight of him is just as tempting as it was months ago. Dark eyes follow him as he steps closer, coming to a stop next to the other man’s leg. Leaning into his space, he waits for whatever it is that Osamu wants to tell him, fiercely hoping it’s something better than <em> see you next week </em>.</p><p>A moment passes. Loaded.</p><p>Then, “Kiss me.”</p><p>It slips past Osamu’s lips like a request that has been kept for too long. And it’s infinitely better than anything Suna could have said.</p><p>Flaming desire licks at his insides, mirrored in Osamu’s eyes, and Suna can only lean further into him, lips stretching into a grin, free hand resting on the bike, in the space between Osamu’s legs.</p><p>Osamu looks down at his lips. Suna licks them.</p><p>“Was hoping you’d say that.”</p><p>Then he closes the remaining space between them and catches Osamu’s bottom lip between his own, letting his eyes fall closed. Osamu’s reaction is immediate and he welcomes him, parting his mouth so their lips can fit together properly, the fiery warmth between them turning into wet, mellow heat and stuttered sighs and Osamu’s hands cradling Suna’s jaw.</p><p>Suna would’ve been lying to himself if he said he hadn’t occasionally wished for this. Wished to kiss Osamu’s lazy grin. Wished to shut his stupid remarks up with a kiss. Wished to be close to this man who’s kind but determined, warm but thorny, cool but sarcastic. Though little could have prepared him to the actual feeling of kissing him.</p><p>It gets rough before it gets soft. Eager tongues and greedy teeth and hungry lips lick, bite, and explore unknown territory. The kind of push-and-pull that has them coming apart for air, then diving right back into it, like there’s no more time to waste. Desperate, thirsty.</p><p>Suna’s hand slides to Osamu’s thigh for support, revelling in the way it gives under his weight, pliable and warm. Osamu’s body shifts under the added weight and one of his hands falls from Suna’s face to the motorcycle seat behind him so he doesn’t topple over backwards.</p><p>He curses against Suna’s lips. “Fuck.” He swallows. “Fuck, Suna. Let me just—”</p><p>Suna feels him move and steps away so Osamu can climb down from the bike. He really looks like a dream on top of it—jeans straining against his divine thighs and ass, the pretty line of his narrow waist broadening into the wide expanse of his shoulders under the black leather jacket, the curve of his long legs. Obscure cults have been started for less worthy subjects of devotion.</p><p>Osamu swings his leg over the bike and Suna backs him up against the side of it as soon as he’s got both feet on the ground. Osamu takes the helmet still hanging from Suna’s hand to place it on the seat behind him, next to his own. Suna plants both of his hands on the bike, on either side of Osamu’s hips, caging him in, and he takes the chance to slip a leg between the searing warmth of his thighs. They meld into each other again, Osamu sighing deeply into the kiss as he locks his arms around Suna’s waist and brings them closer together, now touching from head to toe, closer than they’ve ever been before.</p><p>They kiss quietly until Suna feels drunk on Osamu and Osamu is drunk on him, minds too full of sensorial input to even formulate words or any kind of coherent thoughts.</p><p>Cold night air bites at Suna’s cheeks when Osamu slides his lips sideways, away from Suna’s mouth, and begins peppering kisses across his jaw and down his throat. The brisk contrast brings him closer back to earth, stirring up some kind of plan in his head. His street is usually deadly quiet at night, but he’s vaguely aware of the two or three cars that have driven past them since they started shoving their tongues down each other’s throats, so they must either move this somewhere more private, or tone it down a notch. He hopes with his whole being that their night won’t end here.</p><p>“Wish you weren’t driving,” he speaks against the sensitive skin below Osamu’s ear.</p><p>Osamu lifts his head, lust-clouded eyes taking a moment to focus in on the conversation. “Why’s that?”</p><p>Suna pecks him on the lips and stays there, communicating mouth to mouth like it’s normal. Osamu indulges him by grazing his warm, open lips over Suna’s moving mouth. “Can’t offer you drinks as an excuse to get you to come upstairs with me.”</p><p>Osamu smiles, switching to nip at Suna’s bottom lip. “‘s that the only excuse ya can come up with? Weak.”</p><p>Suna slides a hand up into Osamu’s hair and tugs on it, baring the tantalizing line of his throat and pressing his lips against his pulsating jugular. “Fine. Come look at my wall decorations, then.” He feels Osamu’s laugh under his mouth. “My bookshelves.” He grazes his lips across Osamu’s adam’s apple and slides over to the other side of his neck, nosing at the corner of his jaw. He smells good. “My couch,” followed by an open-mouthed kiss a bit lower, as he imagines fucking Osamu against every possible surface in his apartment. “My kitchen counters.”</p><p>“Oh, I get wild about kitchen furniture,” Osamu quips, amused, but when Suna resurfaces to look at his face and he immediately pulls him down into a searing kiss, he knows they’re both on the same page.</p><p>“Figured you might. My countertops are all granite,” he says, feeling Osamu’s stuttered gasp against his mouth as he presses his thigh harder between the other man’s legs.</p><p>“H-hot,” Osamu breathes as his hands come to circle Suna’s waist, squeezing lightly. Then, in a less jesting tone, “I don’t really need an excuse from you, though. Just ask me and I’ll go.”</p><p>“What about your plans? Your brother?”</p><p>Osamu burrows against Suna’s face for a second, humming in thought, but for some reason it doesn’t sound genuine, almost as if he’s already made up his mind. “Fuck him.”</p><p>Suna grins. He kisses him once more for good measure, pulling on his bottom lip with his teeth then runs his tongue over it. “Come on, then.” He begins shifting his weight back so Osamu can lean off the bike, but he’s quickly pulled back in by the hands on his waist.</p><p>“Ah. But ya didn’t ask.”</p><p>“What?” A meaningful raise of an eyebrow from Osamu. “Oh, you’re insufferable.”</p><p>“I live to displease ya.”</p><p>And Suna chuckles to himself because the reality corresponds to the stark opposite of that statement more often than not. “You’re doing a lousy job of it, then.” He runs his hand through the messy bangs that fall over Osamu’s forehead. “Wanna come upstairs?”</p><p>Osamu kisses him full on the mouth. “Lead the way.”</p><p>Suna peels himself from him and takes a step back while he waits for Osamu to take the key from the ignition and take his backpack from the motorbike’s ridiculously small storage compartment in favor of stuffing one of the helmets inside. The other he slings over his forearm. Suna takes his hand and leads him inside. Osamu shoots his brother a text while they’re in the elevator and checks the reply that comes shortly after while Suna unlocks the door to his apartment.</p><p>“Gonna get grilled tomorrow. I can feel it,” he comments, pocketing his phone and walking past the threshold, following Suna inside before he closes the door.</p><p>“Better make the most of it, then,” Suna says, ditching his heavy gym bag by the entrance and turning to face Osamu.</p><p>“Yer right. C’mere,” and Suna is being pulled against Osamu again, lips crashing together like they’d been apart for an eternity.</p><p>Osamu lets his backpack and the helmet fall next to them, and his leather jacket soon follows after Suna unzips it and slides it off his shoulders, Osamu shrugging it off carelessly onto the floor. The thick material gives way to the much thinner, much softer material of the long-sleeved shirt he wears underneath, stretched taut across his chest, and Suna wastes no time in running his hands down his pecs and stomach, around his waist and up his back, getting his first acquaintance by touch to the curves he’s let his eyes roam over again and again so many times before.</p><p>Here, in the privacy of his home, their movements get bolder. Osamu slips a warm hand under Suna’s shirt and hoodie, splaying it against the small of his back and stroking whatever expanse of soft skin and rippling muscle he can reach there.</p><p>Suna feels warm in his clothes, warmer when Osamu spreads his legs almost imperceptibly and allows Suna to slip his thigh between them again like it’s where it belongs, pressing harshly up against the heat he finds there. Osamu makes the prettiest noise at the friction and Suna feels like he might just spontaneously combust as his moan shoots straight down to his own arousal.</p><p>Osamu leans back against the door behind him and Suna loses track of how much time they stay there, drinking each other in, hands wandering across fabric and bare, smooth skin, exploring, gripping. Osamu’s hand on Suna’s back slides high up enough that he takes the hint and tugs both his shirt and hoodie off at the same time, basking in Osamu’s hungry gaze that sweeps over his bare torso, teasing him further by slithering a hand between their bodies and palming at the growing hardness between Osamu’s legs.</p><p>They’ve barely done more than copious amounts of kissing and a little exploring under their clothes, but their breaths are heavy and Suna is so fucking turned on by touching Osamu and being touched by him it’s almost embarrassing. He’s getting hard in his pants as well and he ruts against Osamu’s hips as he squeezes him through his jeans and shoves his tongue back in his mouth, kissing him silly.</p><p>Osamu seems to be in much the same state, panting against Suna’s mouth, running his thumbs across his abs, over his nipples, raking his nails lightly down his back and digging his fingertips under the waistband of his grey sweatpants. Suna shivers as he pulls on the elastic at the front, teasing.</p><p>“Want you,” Osamu whispers between kisses. “Want you so bad, Suna. Want you in my mouth, wanna taste ya.”</p><p>Suna hisses a curse, a fresh wave of arousal taking over him. “<em> Fuck </em>— my bedroom, come on,” he says, and it takes every ounce of willpower in his body to pull away from Osamu and tug him away from the door by the hem of his shirt.</p><p>In their haste to devour each other, they hadn’t even taken the time to take their shoes off, so they quickly toe them off before Suna walks them to his bedroom. Osamu clings to his back as soon as they’re inside, latching his lips to the side of Suna’s neck, one hand coming to wrap around his middle and the other sliding down to trace the hard line of Suna’s erection straining against his pants. With a breathy moan, Suna goes limp in his arms, head falling back onto his shoulder. He covers both of Osamu’s hands with his own and presses him closer.</p><p>Suna quickly flicks one of the light switches by the door and the light on his bedside table comes on, chasing the darkness away and dousing them in warm, yellow light. They waddle together to the bed, and Osamu swiftly circles around Suna to stand in front of him before they can fall onto it.</p><p>His mouth travels from his lips down to his neck and chest, biting lightly at one of his nipples before he sits down on the edge of the bed. He noses at the trail of hair that runs down from Suna’s navel until it dips below the black waistband of his briefs that now peeks out above the hem of his pants. His thumbs press against the adonis belt on either side of his narrow hips and catch on the elastic of his pants, dragging them down slowly until they rest mid-thigh.</p><p>Suna feels Osamu’s warm breath through the thin fabric of his briefs as the other man moves his lips against his straining erection, one hand carding through Osamu’s soft hair, nails stroking the undercut below.</p><p>Osamu looks up and their eyes meet when he pulls on Suna’s briefs just enough that the tip of his dick pokes out, flushed and wet with precome. Osamu’s warm tongue darts out to lick it, two, three madenning laps before he closes his lips over it. The warm heat paired with the image of Osamu’s big, pretty eyes looking up at him with his mouth wrapped around his dick are sure to haunt Suna’s wettest dreams for a long while.</p><p>Osamu takes his sweet time with the sensitive tip; licks around it, gets a proper taste of him just like he wanted. Suna’s mouth parts as he breathing quickens.</p><p>As Osamu’s lips threaten to sink lower, he pulls the briefs entirely out of the way to join his pants, never taking his mouth off of Suna. He switches to licking fat, wet stripes up and down his fully exposed length, each movement leaving white hot trails of sensation after his tongue. A thumb ghosts over Suna’s slick underside too, following Osamu’s movements, sending shivers across Suna’s entire body, and an appreciative moan falls out of him when Osamu slides him fully into the soft, heavenly heat of his mouth, a fist closing around the base of his dick.</p><p>He starts bobbing his head, painstakingly slow, getting a feel for it, slicking him up further. Lips catch on the tip before he sinks down again, tongue dragging against his shaft, making Suna see stars. Suna makes little noises of encouragement, feels his insides coiling tightly with pleasure, whispers sweet nothings as his hand strokes Osamu’s hair and the lips on his dick sink deeper with every movement of Osamu’s head. His hips stutter forward, just barely, into the enticing heat.</p><p>The hand Osamu has wrapped around him slides between his legs, allowing him to take Suna deeper and gently press two fingers against his perineum at the same time, sending sparks of stimulation flying up his body. Suna curses at the sudden added sensation and he accidentally snaps his hips a bit too fast, too forward, feeling the back of Osamu’s throat.</p><p>It’s by cheer luck that Osamu doesn’t choke, but the sudden intrusion messes up his rhythm and he pulls away. Suna immediately cups his jaw, apologetic. </p><p>“‘m sorry. You were doing great. Didn’t mean to do that.”</p><p>“‘s okay,” Osamu reassures him, looking at him from under his lashes and nuzzling back against Suna’s hand. It would be cute were it not for the words he speaks next. “You can do it, if you want. Fuck my mouth?” Then, it’s just sinful.</p><p>It comes out somewhere between a suggestion and a request and <em> fuck </em>, even the idea of it has Suna’s mouth watering. His breath hitches in his throat. “You’re killing me here. Are you sure?”</p><p>Osamu hums his assent, lips attaching themselves back to Suna’s leaking tip. “Go on. I can take it.” Then he buries his dick back in his mouth and swallows around it, sucking him in.</p><p>Suna has to bite down hard on his lip and close his eyes momentarily to stop himself from coming right there and then. He wonders if Osamu knows just how mindblowingly hot he is. He <em> must </em> be aware of it—right?</p><p>Fingers circling his wrist have him opening his eyes again. He lets Osamu guide his other hand up into his hair so he’s got Osamu’s head firmly clutched in his hold. Taking the hint, he locks Osamu in place and grinds his hips forward, one, two, three times, checking how far he can take it, trusting Osamu’s words when he finds little resistance.</p><p>He’s able to bury himself fully inside him, throat walls expanding then constricting around the intrusion, the sensation absolutely maddening. A chest-deep moan falls out of Suna but he pulls back quickly, not wanting to fully choke Osamu. He follows it up with a few shallower thrusts before he does it once more, hooked to the feeling of Osamu taking him so eagerly and openly.</p><p>Tears well up in Osamu’s eyes with this second time, fat, heavy drops clinging to his lashes and streaming down his face when he closes his eyes to better focus on his task.</p><p>“Pinch me if you need me to stop, ‘kay?” Suna says.</p><p>Osamu throws him a thumbs up, nonchalant but still so very <em> him </em>, even in the situation he’s in. Suna bites back a smile and runs a hand through the bangs across his forehead that have begun to cling to his skin with a thin layer of sweat, then wipes a tear out of the corner of his eye with his thumb.</p><p>He sets a steady pace, alternating between shallow, sharp thrusts and few deeper, languid ones, watching as Osamu’s eyebrow furrow in concentration, encouraging and praising him with words spoken in breathy gasps.</p><p>“Take me so well, Osamu.” He <em> feels </em> Osamu’s moan around his dick. “How do I taste? Good?”</p><p>Unable to reply, Osamu opens his eyes and looks up at him. Suna watches as one of his hands moves to palm himself roughly through his jeans, a long, drawn out sigh making its way out of him.</p><p>“Save yourself for me. I’ll take care of you too, promise.”</p><p>Osamu whines and shuts his eyes again, like he’s trying to focus on everything at the same time—not choking on Suna, his own hand groping his dick, and Suna’s horny blabbering.</p><p>Suna can feel his orgasm steadily building and his pace changes into much faster, but shallower thrusts, fucking relentlessly into Osamu’s welcoming mouth.</p><p>“‘m close. Osamu.” But as the pleasure builds, he finds it harder and harder to focus on words, gasps turning into desperate moans. “Osamu—look at me. Look at me, please.”</p><p>Osamu does, eyes opening slowly to reveal the inferno burning in his irises, and <em> shit shit shit </em> , he’s so fucking <em> beautiful </em>—lips stretched around Suna’s dick, first kissed and now fucked a deep red, pink dusting his cheeks, ears and neck, cheeks and eyelashes wet with tears, chest heaving in synch with Suna’s movements. He’s a mess, a beautiful mess, and all Suna’s bliss-addled brain can think of is wrecking him further.</p><p>He halts his movements and pulls himself out of Osamu with a lewd popping sound, strings of spit and precome snapping between his dick and Osamu’s lips, falling down to add to his already dripping chin. Osamu looks up at him questioningly, mouth still hanging open after the sudden change in pace.</p><p>Even Suna feels heat creeping to his face as he asks, breathless, mindless, “Can I come on your face?”</p><p>Osamu’s eyes glint in the dim light. He licks messily around his lips and leans his face closer to Suna’s crotch. The corner of his mouth quirks up briefly before he speaks, voice fucked raw, “‘s all yours.”</p><p>And if it hadn’t been for the iron grip Suna has around the base of his own cock, that might’ve just been enough to send him over the edge. Instead, he feels himself throbbing uncontrollably.</p><p>His hand is quickly replaced by Osamu’s and he begins stroking him firmly, the slide made easy with the thick coat of spit and precome covering Suna’s dick from base to tip.</p><p>Osamu opens his mouth and touches the tip of his tongue to the underside of Suna, waiting for his release. He doesn’t have to wait long, as the rough feeling of Osamu’s hand on his oversensitive cock coupled with the sight of his open, willing face have Suna edging closer to his climax in almost no time, thoughts clouded with nothing but lust and Osamu.</p><p>With a few particularly sharp, encouraging tugs from Osamu, Suna comes across his face with Osamu’s name on his mouth, eyes never straying from him, even through the full intensity of his orgasm that sets his insides aflame and almost has him seeing white.</p><p>Osamu pumps him through it, quietly, mouth closing around the tip when Suna begins coming down from his high, dutifully lapping up whatever is still weakly coming out of him. Thick spurts of come streak his lips, as well as his cheeks and the corner of his eye, and the sight is better than anything Suna’s mind could ever hope to conjure.</p><p>Chest heaving and legs trembling, Suna’s mind slowly makes its way back to him and he cradles Osamu’s jaw between his hands before he’s collapsing to his knees and crushing their mouths together, tasting himself on Osamu’s tongue. The other man presses back, eager, hungry, a hand on the back of Suna’s neck.</p><p>“Look at you,” Suna whispers, hopelessly entranced by this man. He gathers the remaining come from his face with his thumb and feeds it to Osamu, smearing it around their tongues as he follows it up with another kiss. “You’re a dream.”</p><p>Osamu makes a desperate noise against his mouth, pulls Suna closer, almost climbing onto his lap. Suna puts his hands on him, up his arms, over his shoulders and down his back, letting him know he hasn’t forgotten about him.</p><p>“Suna,” Osamu whispers, the single word somehow carrying the full weight of his longing.</p><p>“I got you, baby. I got you. Get up on the bed for me.”</p><p>They break apart and Osamu complies, dragging Suna onto the bed by his arm. He shuffles back until he can lie back on his elbows and watch as Suna pulls his underwear up and his pants off before joining him.</p><p>Suna is quick to crawl over a regrettably still fully clothed Osamu, settling comfortably over his thighs, straddling his hips. He dips his hands under the hem of Osamu’s shirt and slides it up on his torso, exposing his full chest and smooth stomach, a tantalizingly thick happy trail disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. He can’t resist running a finger through it.</p><p>Osamu makes quick work of his shirt. He sits up so it’s easier to take off, but he doesn’t lie back down again. Instead, he shuffles backwards until his back is against the headboard for support and carries Suna with him, choosing to close the distance between them like this instead.</p><p>Hands start roaming again like it’s the first time, and now that the shirt is gone, Suna is able to confirm that Osamu is indeed both as firm and as soft as he looks. He’s broad where Suna is narrow, he’s built like a dream but his edges have rounded and he’s awfully pleasing to hold just like this, with Suna on his lap and their arms around each other.</p><p>“You’re beautiful,” Osamu murmurs against his neck, hands tracing over Suna’s body, feeling every curve and crevice of hard muscle and soft skin.</p><p>He’s painfully hard under Suna, his erection close to neglected up until this point, and his breathing is still noticeably heavy, but he’s taking his sweet time anyway. He doesn’t urge Suna to get straight to business, happy to just bask in each other’s bodies for the moment, almost like he doesn’t want to rush things.</p><p>It’s not like Suna is exactly looking forward to the end of this either, so he goes along, rejoicing in the change of pace, his berserk heartbeat from just a minute ago slowing down to something a lot more mellow but not less intense. His hands map out Osamu’s body as he returns the affection, hoping to make him feel safe and wanted and cherished.</p><p>He nibbles on Osamu’s earlobe and whispers against his ear, “You should see yourself, then. Gonna dream about you every night from now on.”</p><p>He feels Osamu chuckling softly against the skin of his neck, a warm puff of breath against his damp skin. “Funny, I’ve been dreamin’ ‘bout you for a while now.”</p><p>“Have you? What about?”</p><p>“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Osamu says, squeezing Suna’s ass playfully.</p><p>“Alright, keep your secrets.” Suna presses kisses down his neck and nuzzles the crook of his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”</p><p>Osamu shrugs lightly so as not to dislodge him. “Oh, you know. Didn’t wanna scare my favourite customer away.”</p><p>And <em> oh </em>. That—that actually does pull at Suna’s heartstrings a little. Maybe a lot. He lifts his head and nudges Osamu to do the same too so their eyes can meet. They’re both smiling lazily like a couple of idiots. “That’s fucking cute.”</p><p>“Is it?”</p><p>Suna smashes their lips together so he doesn’t have to admit it twice, not letting go until Osamu’s breath picks up again and his hold on Suna gets tighter, more insistent. Until his hands are on Suna’s hips, pushing his ass down against his still rock-hard crotch. Suna grinds down against him in response, lowering his hands between their bodies to unbuckle his belt and unzip the fly of his pants.</p><p>“These, off,” he tells Osamu, rising up on his knees and climbing off of him so they’re easier to undress. Osamu slides them over his ass and thighs and Suna pulls them the rest of the way off, eyes scanning every inch of new skin that is exposed, thinking about the fun he could have biting and kissing and fucking those dreamy thighs. There’s still so much of him left to love and explore.</p><p>There’s a big, wet patch on Osamu’s dark grey underwear, where he’s been leaking onto for too long, but Osamu rips that off as well, throwing it over the side of the bed and presenting Suna with the full sight of his swollen cock, flushed red, veins throbbing. Suna feels a renewed spark of desire coming alive inside him just upon seeing it, even though he’s had his own climax just a handful of minutes ago.</p><p>He goes back to straddling Osamu’s legs and puts a hand on him, thumb teasing the wet tip and long fingers loosely wrapping around his girth. Osamu immediately tenses at the touch, having gone untouched this whole time, and his mouth parts around a broken moan.</p><p>“Tell me how you want it, Osamu.”</p><p>Osamu reaches for Suna and tugs him closer to himself, back to their initial position with Suna on his lap, but with a bit more space between their hips so Suna can comfortably reach between them.</p><p>“Like this. Like this is perfect,” he says, slurring his words, latching his mouth to Suna’s yet again, hands clutching his body close. “Just—just don’t stop kissin’ me.”</p><p>Suna is all too happy to oblige. He wonders if Osamu particularly enjoys the closeness after the vulnerability of having his face fucked while on his knees, or if he just naturally enjoys it. With a little luck, it’s a bit of both.</p><p>They let themselves get lost in each other again, lips swollen, bordering on numb, kissing like they’d be perfectly content if that’s all they did for the rest of the night. Suna strokes Osamu with his fist, swallowing each and every single noise that slips past his lips, occasionally pressing whispers doused in honey to the corner of his mouth. Osamu drinks them all.</p><p>It doesn’t take much to bring him over the edge. Osamu comes with his face buried against Suna’s neck, mouth open around a silent, choked moan of his name. Suna works him through it, speaking softly into his ear, his free hand caressing the back of his neck, comforting, grounding. He noses at the sensitive spot behind Osamu’s ear and presses a few kisses too to bring him back, waiting patiently as Osamu takes a few seconds to gather his breathing. </p><p>Osamu seals the whole thing with a tender kiss when he lifts his head, like he <em> still </em> hasn’t had enough of Suna’s lips just yet. And that’s okay, because Suna still hasn’t had enough of him either.</p><p>“You sure like kissing, huh?” Suna asks, teasing, but so soft.</p><p>Osamu breathes a contented sigh, eyes heavy. “Guess I do. Yer a good kisser.”</p><p>So is he, Suna thinks. He gets up on his knees with one last press of their mouths and crawls away from him. Osamu immediately flops over and turns onto his side, sightly body spread over Suna’s sheets, pretty shadows dancing on his golden skin. He’s naturally hot when he’s fully clothed and he’s even hotter with a motorbike between his legs, but Suna might just find him the hottest like this, spread out on his bed like a renaissance painting, naked as the day he was born, comfortable and blissed out in his afterglow.</p><p>“Gonna get something to get you cleaned up,” Suna says with a pat to his thigh.</p><p>Osamu sighs and closes his eyes, grateful. “Thanks.”</p><p>Suna moves off the bed and walks to the bathroom, taking a moment to clean himself first then returning a minute later with a warm, damp towel, which he hands to Osamu. He kneels back on the bed and waits as Osamu cleans his face and hands first then wipes off the few streaks of come that had landed on his stomach. He hands the towel back to Suna when he’s done, who tosses it over the bed onto the floor. Then he slowly spreads his arms, lazy smile on his lips, an invitation for Suna to join him down on the bed.</p><p>“Cuddle?,” he asks, quiet, hopeful. Suna grants it.</p><p>They shuffle around until their heads are on the pillows and their limbs are tangled together. Suna has always loved the feeling of bare skin on bare skin. It’s easily one of his favourite aspects of sex, and what comes after. Osamu seems to enjoy it too, hands never stilling in one place, fingers tracing whatever curves he can reach.</p><p>“I meant it when I said you were a dream—that I’m going to dream about you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that,” Suna speaks softly against Osamu’s forehead, brain too sleepy and too soft to even care if he’s sharing too much. “You’re so good.”</p><p>Osamu looks up after a beat of silence. “You don’t gotta dream about me if you have the real thing, y’know.”</p><p>“<em> Do </em> I have the real thing?”</p><p>“If you want to, sure.” Osamu replies, no hesitation in his voice.</p><p>“What do <em> you </em> want?” Suna asks, running a thumb across his cheek, caught in a moment of incredible fondness.</p><p>Osamu takes Suna’s hand in his and kisses his fingers. “I wanna take you out again.” Kisses the back of his hand. “And again.” The inside of his wrist. “And again.” Leaves his lips against the beating pulse there. “And see where it takes us.”</p><p>“Sounds like a plan.” It feels like the natural course of things. Suna smiles, fond. Osamu returns it. “Stay the night? I can get you clean underwear and a spare toothbrush.”</p><p>“Sure,” Osamu hums and closes his eyes, sleepy, dreamy, content.</p><p>None of them make a move to fetch either of those things, particularly not after Osamu nuzzles closer to Suna and they stay like that for a long while, too tangled up in each other in every sense of the word.</p><p> </p><p>Their first date is going rather well. The next ones are certainly bound to be better.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>— </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank u for reading!! i'm still getting a feel for their characters so any feedback is appreciated, personality related or not!<br/>also english isn't my first language so if you see any glaring mistakes i'm sorry ;;</p><p>i hope you're all staying happy, healthy, and hydrated!<br/>come keep me company <a href="https://twitter.com/yoongoboongi">on twitter</a> ♡</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>